


Food Goo

by lioness44



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Food Goo (Voltron), Gen, Hunk & Shiro - Freeform, Hunk (Voltron)-centric, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, paladins are all overtired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 00:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21109772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lioness44/pseuds/lioness44
Summary: A study of the team's dynamics ... takes place early in the series when they're still on the castle. Told from Hunk's POV.





	Food Goo

**Author's Note:**

> I love Hunk's character. He doesn't get enough fics devoted to him, so I decided to do a little bit of character exploration. I wanted to change things up a bit and show Hunk getting annoyed at someone because it seems like this kind of thing would happen a lot given how much stress they're under -- even to someone as pure as Hunk. Then I thought, who would be the worst person to get annoyed at? And, of course, it would be Shiro ... Anyway, this turned into something interesting (I hope!) so I am going to continue with the story. In the next chapter, they'll learn why Shiro doesn't eat the food goo in the mornings.

**Chapter One **

Everyone had their moments. Even Hunk.

It stood to reason. After all, they’d been yanked away from everything they knew, thrust into a high-stakes, life-or-death situation, given impossible tasks on an almost daily basis, and at the end of the day, they were only human. They were bound to get on each other’s nerves from time-to-time. Keith and Lance sniped back and forth with the least provocation, Pidge made sharp, biting comments whenever she was overtired. Even Shiro could lose his temper when the others rubbed him the wrong way.

But Hunk?

Hunk was even-keeled. If he felt flashes of annoyance, he was quick to rationalize the other person’s behavior so that the feeling slipped away before it had time to fester. With one exception: morning food goo.

The thing was, no one had ever told Hunk he _had_ to cook. He did it because he wanted to. Dinner? No problem. He’d happily fallen into the pattern of cooking their evening meal as often as the universe allowed them to eat it. Snacks and desserts? Check and check. Lunch? It was understood that this was an individual affair. Everyone was left to their own devices. But breakfast? That was murky territory.

Most of the time, Hunk got up and cooked simply because he wanted to make something for himself, and if he was going to whip up a batch of space pancakes, well, then it wasn’t that much harder to triple his recipe and feed everyone else.

But it wasn’t his _job_.

Breakfast was something he cooked when he felt like it, and if the others benefitted from his personal cravings, he didn’t mind. Sometimes though, Hunk wanted to sleep in. He’d never been a morning person. Sure, he wasn’t as bad as Lance, who couldn’t seem to roll out of bed before 9 AM castle time unless Shiro threatened him with extra laps. And he wasn’t a barely coherent, head-nodder like Pidge, but he was quietly grumpy until he’d put something in his stomach. So when he didn’t cook and the others complained about eating food goo for breakfast, Hunk had zero patience for their whining.

After a handful of occasions when he’d snapped at someone’s ill-timed grumbling, they’d learned to keep their mouths shut.

“In the morning, you’re like a grizzly bear coming out of hibernation,” Pidge had observed. “Awake, growling, and single-minded until you’ve found your food.”

_Yup. That about summed it up._

The only person who still reacted with distaste to morning food goo was Shiro, which was a surprise because he was usually the best at masking his emotions. Maybe that was partly why it drove Hunk up the freakin’ wall. The man could betray no emotion when negotiating with a pack of reeking Tryboars, but he couldn’t hide his feelings about a bowl of goo?

Got under Hunk’s skin.

Still, he couldn’t very well say anything. Being angry at Shiro was the equivalent of kicking a wounded puppy. The man would literally lay down his life for every single one of them and he was constantly fighting demons that were bigger than he was, so how could anyone – least of all Hunk – fail to be patient with him? Patience was supposed to be Hunk’s specialty. Other than cooking, wasn’t that kind of his role on the team? Hunk, the solid, stalwart, unflappable leg, holding everyone else up?

But no matter how much he berated himself when it came to Shiro and the food goo, he was as flappable as anyone. When Shiro stared at his bowl and then frowned and pushed it away without taking a single bite, it hit Hunk where he _lived_. Guilt and grumpiness collided, creating a supernova.

Well, okay. Hunk didn’t really do supernovas. Those were more of Keith’s style. But it did create a sonic boom. A small, mostly unnoticed sonic boom.

Hunk sighed. Why couldn’t Shiro just complain? If the man actually said that he was disappointed that Hunk hadn’t made breakfast, then Hunk would be justified in losing his temper and pointing out all of the very valid reasons why breakfast wasn’t his responsibility. But Shiro never complained. Not verbally.

The paladins did poorly at training? _Disappointed stare._

Very poorly? _Heavy sigh._

Someone made an inappropriate comment? _Raised eyebrow._

Food goo for breakfast? First, a long stare, then an attempt at a bite, and finally the bowl was shoved away and Shiro would make up some lame excuse to depart, leaving Hunk to manage the toxic mixture of self-reproach and anger that made his stomach feel sour.

**# # #**

The situation came to a head after a long string of battles that had left all of the paladins weary and short-tempered. Almost every day that week there had been something to deal with, and last night they’d been up late fighting off a never-ending Galra fleet. When they’d finally finished, they’d barely had the will to stumble out of their lions and disperse to their bedrooms. There had been no dinner that night. Coran had handed out energy bars and they’d shuffled off to bed.

“I know we’re saving the universe and all,” Lance had muttered, “but couldn’t the bad guys have the courtesy to attack between 9 AM and 5 PM Earth time?”

“Agreed,” Keith had murmured, and the lack of an argument had spoken volumes about his level of fatigue.

“We’ll push training back an hour tomorrow,” Shiro had said, “but we need to keep as much consistency to our schedules as possible. So, breakfast will be at nine. Training room at ten.”

He’d been met with a chorus of groans, but honestly, Shiro had looked worse than the rest of them, so no one pushed it. Not even Lance.

That night Hunk tossed and turned, finding it hard to settle down after the adrenaline of the fight. He’d probably gotten five to six hours of sleep once his body had finally given in, but that wasn’t enough. Hunk was an eight to nine-hour guy. Hell, he was a ten to eleven-hour guy when he could manage it. So, he’d woken up pissed-off at the sound of his alarm.

Why couldn’t they sleep in? There was a reason, and it had made sense the night before, but now Hunk couldn’t recall what it had been.

He’d slogged through the process of getting dressed and then trudged to the kitchen, but he was still the first one there. His forehead scrunched. _I am not cooking for everyone this morning. It is not my job and I’m freakin’ tired, and no one better say a word about it._ Hunk poured himself a cup of space coffee and a bowl of goo. One by one, the others trickled in, eyes half shut as they dispensed their breakfast and found their spot at the table.

Coran stopped by long enough to tell them that he and Allura had already had their breakfast and would be going over star charts on the bridge. He got only sleepy grunts in return. For once, Shiro hadn’t been up at the crack of dawn, working out for hours while the others slept. Instead, he arrived just after Pidge, his hair disheveled and the dark circles under his eyes standing out more than usual. He poured himself a mug of space coffee, got a bowl of goo, and sat down at the table.

And then he stared.

Hunk could feel the irritation growing inside of him. He tried to force his eyes away, but they kept drifting back.

_Just eat it, man. Eat the damn goo._

Shiro took a deep breath as if he were psyching himself up to eat his breakfast. He picked up his spoon and held it tight.

_Eat the goo, Shiro,_ Hunk mentally pleaded. _Come on._

Somewhere underneath his conscious line of thought, another voice nagged at Hunk, this one directed at himself.

_You should’ve just cooked. How hard would it have been to whip up some space eggs and then Shiro wouldn’t have to work himself up to eating breakfast? Breakfast may not be your job, but the team’s diet is your responsibility and you’re failing!_

Hunk’s grip on his own spoon tightened until his knuckles turned white. He stared at Shiro who stared at his goo. Then Shiro pushed the untouched bowl away with one harsh thrust.

And Hunk lost it.

He slammed down his spoon. “If you’re upset that I didn’t make breakfast, why don’t you just say so?”

Shiro jolted. “What?” He looked around the table as if he was trying to figure out which one of the paladins Hunk was addressing. Who had said or done something while Shiro wasn’t paying attention? And that just made it worse, because Shiro was clearly ready to come to Hunk’s defense as soon as he figured out who Hunk was yelling at.

“I’m talking to you,” Hunk continued, gentler now. “You’re clearly disappointed when I don’t cook breakfast, so why don’t you just say as much and then assign it as one of my jobs instead of doing this passive-aggressive thing where you stare at your food goo and then end up throwing it all out? I mean, if it was my job I’d adjust to it, but otherwise, I’m just as tired as all of you, so sue me if I don’t always want to cook breakfast!”

Shiro’s jaw had dropped and for a moment he looked as if Hunk had punched him. _Oh boy. This was bad._ This was why Hunk didn’t do confrontations. The moment he released his anger, he immediately started to see the other person’s point of view, and then he felt like shit. Obviously, Shiro had no clue he’d been reacting to the food goo in a way that made Hunk feel bad. So, that meant Hunk was overreacting and that was, in turn, making Shiro feel bad.

“Uh … no one said you needed to cook breakfast,” Shiro said, sounding stunned. “You shouldn’t have to. I don’t mind the food goo. It’s fine.”

Hunk shook his head. Part of him wanted to let the whole thing go, but another part knew that he’d never get his chance to say anything again. It was now or never. “No. It isn’t. If it was fine for breakfast, you’d eat it, just like you do for lunch but instead, there’s this whole drama where you act like you might eat it, but then you just can’t … and the whole time I sit here feeling guilty because I didn’t just cook.”

Shiro’s brows knitted together. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then closed it again and pulled his bowl closer as if he might eat the food goo after all, just to prove how fine he was with it.

“Uh uh. No.” Hunk snagged the bowl and pulled it away. “Nope. You do not get to tell me you’re fine and then force down something you obviously don’t want to eat instead of just admitting whatever the problem is.”

Across from him, Lance’s eyes were huge. “Wow. I’ve never seen you this riled up, Hunk. Damn.”

“Don’t mess with Papa Bear,” Pidge muttered.

Even Keith looked impressed.

Shiro swallowed hard. “It … I … it isn’t about you not cooking.”

“Then what’s it about?” Hunk pressed. “How am I not supposed to feel guilty when you look like you might vomit because I failed to cook?”

“Hunk …” Shiro rubbed his human hand over his face. He was silent for a long time, and he looked as if he was weighing out every word very carefully, which apparently, pissed-off Keith.

“Why don’t you just tell us the truth?” Keith’s voice was quiet, but intense, and Shiro flinched, but Keith didn’t let up.

“The mornings when you don’t eat the food goo are the mornings when you’ve had a nightmare the night before, right?”

“Keith …” Shiro’s tone was sharp and his body coiled tight.

“What? I’m right, aren’t I? Give us some credit, Shiro. We’re not stupid. We can put two and two together. You stumble in here looking nauseated before you’ve even sat down, but then you try to act as if nothing’s wrong. Just a normal morning. You’re fine. Except you’re not.”

_Shit._ Hunk ought to feel good that someone was on his side, except Keith was wrong. He hadn’t put two and two together. Not until right this moment. _That was why Shiro didn’t eat the food goo? _

Shiro shook his head. “But I am fine. By the time I get here, the nightmare is over. I’m awake. Functioning. If there’s a lingering … emotion … I shake it off by the time we start training. What else do you want from me?”

“We want you to talk to us,” Pidge said. “Keith’s right. We all pretend not to see how little you sleep or the times when you’re affected by your memories, but we’re not blind. So why don’t you tell us about what’s bothering you instead of trying to hide it?”

Lance nodded. “We’re good listeners. Even if what you tell us isn’t pretty.”

_Were they good listeners?_ Right now Hunk felt like a crappy listener. He’d launched into his complaint because he’d wanted the annoyance off his chest, but had he even bothered to listen to Shiro’s response?

“You want me to tell you about my nightmares?” Shiro said, voice flat. He shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

There was an immediate swell of protest, but Lance led the charge.

“Dude, why not? They’re nightmares. If you can handle having them, then I think we can handle hearing about them.”

“And maybe if we knew what they were about,” Pidge added, “then we could make adjustments to the way we do things so you wouldn’t have to suffer.”

The feeling in Hunk’s belly was pure, hot shame. This was not where he’d intended this conversation to go. He’d been tired and grumpy, and he’d lashed out. That should have been it. A momentary lapse. But now the others had taken up his cause, as if Hunk’s motivation had been noble all along. He wanted to take it all back. The whole stupid argument. Of course Shiro’s reluctance to eat the food goo had nothing to do with Hunk’s failure to cook and everything to do with his own trauma. It should have been obvious. After all, the stuff looked like … insect guts. (Did Shiro dream about insect guts?)

Hunk needed to end this – now – before it spiraled out of control. “Guys … forget I brought this up. It’s not a big deal. Let’s just --”

“No.” Keith set down his spoon. He stared at Shiro with that intense look he got when he’d dug his teeth into something and had no intention of letting go. “Shiro, do you think we can’t handle the truth? What do you think would happen if you talked to us? We’re not breakable. Talking about your nightmares could help you to --”

“Enough.” Shiro’s Galra arm slammed down causing everyone’s silverware to clatter. A fine sheen of sweat covered his brow and his human hand trembled. “You have no idea what you’re asking.” His voice was a low growl. “No idea,” he repeated. “I will not be telling you about my nightmares. Don’t ask me again.”

And then he got up and left. No more discussion. None of his usual leaderly concern for wrapping up an argument in a way that left all parties satisfied. No apologies or explanations. Just a flat-out _no way in hell_.

Hunk stared at Shiro’s abandoned bowl of food goo. He couldn’t decide if he felt guilty, pissed-off, offended, or just plain exhausted.

Maybe that was the whole problem? They were all stretched too thin, and no one was at their best when they were homesick, scared, and miserable. Not even Shiro.

With a sigh, Hunk stood up and took Shiro’s bowl into the kitchen. He scraped the food goo into the waste disposal and put the bowl in the cleaner. No one had said a word since Shiro left and Hunk wondered if they were all thinking the same exact thing.

_Could they please go back to bed and start the morning over again?_

This time, Hunk swore he’d ignore the food goo.


End file.
